Burned
by Mary4
Summary: A trip into JD's psyche recounts the moments leading up to his demise.


Burned  
  
Gears start grinding. The engine overheats. That's how it all starts.   
Then, all of a sudden, you just snap. Just like a car, you breakdown. You're   
stuck in the badlands. Now you realize all the signs were there and you ignored   
them, completely undeterred by the inevitable. That's when you get confused. You   
felt this coming on, and did nothing to stop it, but you convince yourself it's   
not your fault. I mean, after all, this could happen to anyone...right?  
  
  
"One minute you know what you have to do, and you find yourself calling   
out, 'Veronica.' The next minute, something changes in you, so instead of saying   
what you know you should've said, you go, 'I'll carry the cup.' So, we come to   
the quintessential question. At the defining moment, why do we do it? If you   
know what you should've said, why didn't you say it! I'll tell you why. It's so   
simple, it's unimaginable. You didn't WANT to say what you should've said. Now-  
strangely enough-you're less confused. Things are suddenly so clear, and in   
perfect perspective. You put yourself in the path of the tornado, and you did it   
on purpose!"  
At times like these, I stop carrying on because I wonder if I'm saying the   
wrong thing to the wrong person. I saw the puzzled, spaced-out glaze in her eyes   
and I knew she was trying to figure me out, trying to figure out what I was   
saying. She couldn't do it, though. She wouldn't get the hint if at that very   
moment I had whipped out a Hull Cleaner bottle with my finger prints all over   
it. Her eyes widened as if she'd just realized I had stopped going on and on.   
"J.D., are you aware you haven't used the word 'I', and instead you keep saying   
'you think' or 'you realize'?"  
"No, I hadn't, Ms. Flemming." Oh, yeah, she was really in good shape. You   
can't get anything past guidance counselors-if by anything, you mean diction. I   
remember thinking I could've said that we killed Heather Chandler, and she would   
probably ask me if I thought I was more than one person.  
"You also mentioned Veronica. Is everything okay between you and Veronica?   
You can talk to me, J.D. Is she the reason you came to see me?"  
"Yes, actually." Bingo, I thought! Chalk up a point for the school quack.  
"Alright, so tell me. Are you worried about how the suicides are affecting   
her?"  
"No, I'm not worried about Veronica anymore. She committed suicide last   
night."  
As weird as I felt telling her, and as much as I was missing Veronica at the   
time, I couldn't help but love the expression on her face. Her mouth dropped   
open wide enough to swallow a dick, and her eyes turned sad and teary enough to   
make you wanna drown. I almost laughed at how ridiculous she looked. You'd think   
Veronica was her daughter or something! She didn't even know her that well, and   
all Veronica ever did was mock her, and she was ready to throw herself on the   
casket before there was one. Meanwhile, I just sat there, trying to look sadder   
by the moment while this psychology drop-out grabbed a kleenex and offered me   
one like it was a consolation prize. Sure, your girlfriend hanged herself 12   
hours ago, but here, have a tissue. I kinda waved it away, like if I touched it,   
I'd burst into tears myself.  
"How did you find out about this, J.D.?"  
"I went there for dinner, you know. Her mom was making her favorite-spaghetti   
with lots of oregano." I threw that 50 cent sympathy detail in for the hell of   
it. "She told me the door would be open, and to just come on up, and there she   
was-hanging there." I tossed in lots of long pauses, soft whimpers, and darted   
my eyes all around the room, like I didn't want to talk about it. I wish I'd   
taped it. I could've submitted it for oscar consideration. "She was hanging by a   
sheet, motionless, lifeless, and dead." I didn't know how anyone could swallow   
that tripe, but she burst into tears again, begging for more! "I didn't know   
what to do, so I just ran out of the house, got on my bike, and rode home. I   
barely even slept." For a moment, I was almost reverent, almost sincerely moved.   
I'm not all extremes and rebellion. I missed Veronica. I thought it was pretty   
fucked up that she wouldn't be there to see my grand scheme realized. I had been   
wondering whether or not to even go on with it now. Seemed kinda pointless   
without an audience. Who was I gonna roast marshmallows with? Not only couldn't   
she accessorize, she had shitty timing!  
"J.D., I am so sorry for your loss, and I am so sorry that you saw that. You   
need to come to terms with your loss, and once you've accepted it, you'll   
realize life is tragic and out of our hands. Then, you'll see that you have to   
move on, and get on with your life."  
As much as I hated to admit it, she knew what she was talking about for once.   
"You know, Ms. Flemming, you're right. The show must go on."  
"Exactly, J.D. Now, I'd like to talk with you more about this, but the pep rally   
is due to start in 15 minutes." I loved this. My girlfriend just took her own   
precious little life, but God forbid we should miss the pep rally! "I want to   
make an appointment for you to come see me tomorrow, so we can talk more about   
this, and help you deal with this tragedy. So when is good for you? You can come   
in..." I stopped listening before she even started talking again. I had already   
made up my mind. It'd be a waste of my time to make an appointment. She'd be   
dead tomorrow, and besides, school would be closed!  
"Can I come back later and make the appointment? I have to go to the bathroom."  
"Of course, you take all the time you need." She gave me this pathetic brave   
little smile like I was going to sit in a stall and sulk the rest of the day. It   
was an insult to everything morbid, a slap in the face to empathy itself-her   
sitting there, pretending to know what real loss felt like, handing out sympathy   
like she handed out those fuckin' tissues!  
I walked out of her office, trudging through the halls as usual, oblivious to   
everyone around me, headphones, trench and bookbag. I can't help but wonder if I   
hadn't already been immune to death after all my exposure to it, would I have   
been numb to the death of my misled girlfriend. I was more angry than sad,   
because if she had just listened to me in the first place, everything would be   
peaches and cream. We could be watching the school erupt in flames together and   
playing strip croquet by that night if she had just had a little more faith in   
my expertise.  
The halls started haunting me after I shook Veronica's ghost. Scarier than shit.   
I was almost in mourning there for a minute. All I had to do was take a look   
around, and I felt that superiority again. I was better than these beer-guzzling   
jock assholes and these megabitch queens. I was God taking a stroll through hell   
judging the sinners. To my left, geek with glasses being tortured by jerk in a   
letter jacket. To my right, teeny-bopper gossip slaves giggling under their   
breath as Heather the Cheerleader passed by. Like a reflex, I turned the volume   
up on my walkman to block it out better. Straight ahead I spotted this girl   
crying, then I dismissed it when I saw the picture of Ram taped up inside. How   
pathetic can you get? That girl was in my American History, always asking   
Heather the Cheerleader about him. One day she was absent, and I overheard Miss   
McNamara explain to a fellow classmate that Ram said he'd kill himself before   
he'd ever give that girl the time of day. Isn't ironic? Sad she didn't know how   
much better off she was. I guess it's true that you should be careful what you   
wish for, 'cause you just might get it. For no more than a second, I had wished   
Veronica were still alive. God knows, I lived to regret that, because I was   
about to get my wish soon enough. Again, the girl just had the shittiest timing!  
I travelled up the steps to the bathroom, ducked inside an empty stall and   
whipped out my beautiful bomb that was meant to become a bigger masterpiece-not   
just a picture worth a thousand words, but a thousand socialites in a thousand   
pieces sending one vivid message. High school sucks, and teens can't deal with   
all it's bullshit and hatred. I had myself convinced I was a genius. The   
statement I was making that would be made with everyone else's lives was so   
simple, yet profound only angst-ridden teens in the depths of their abysmal   
depression could've conceived of it.  
While I was admiring my own handiwork, the narcissistic rebel in me got the   
better of me. I was perfecto. This was the most logical, meaningful, perfecto   
thing anyone had ever done! And Veronica wasn't gonna be there to see it! She   
could've given me the opportunity to explain my petition, at least. The bitch   
didn't even leave a note! Even Heather, Kurt and Ram had the decency to leave a   
note. That was another thing. For a minute, I actually diluted myself into   
thinking they committed suicide of their own volition. I preferred to think of   
it as involuntary suicide...which is obviously a contradiction in terms, but   
what did I care. This suicide thing was just about to blow the lid off the   
melting pot. No one would escape blame. Fuck sugarplums and candycanes! I had   
blood and intestines and news flashes dancing around my head. They'd blame the   
parents, the teachers, the cops, Santa Claus and the Easter bunny-hell, they'd   
blame Big Fun for making that fuckin' song! All of society would suffer the   
consequences!  
I had given myself a killer God-complex. I set out to do what I had intended to   
do all along. I was almost done by the time I had these ideas parading around in   
my mind. Nothing could stop me. You know how politicians always talk about the   
lunatics with their fingers on "the button"? I had my own button, and the best   
thing was it didn't even need to be pushed! To my satisfaction, it was always   
on, always pressed, and I assumed that was what gave me my edge. Yeah, I was   
tripping all over myself, marvelling at my victory. Then, Murphy's Law kicked   
in-the essence of chaos-and I looked up to see Veronica nervously holding a gun   
in my face. In my surprise, I thought she was a cunning little bitch. I welcomed   
the challenge though. If she realized the err of her ways, and wanted to be part   
of my famous petition after all, I was ecstatic to have her.  
I thought she was so cute. She didn't even realize I wasn't holding the bomb! I   
was colored impressed by the way she had turned my fun around on me. I could say   
I didn't try to win her back, that I wasn't weak at the sight of my protégé with   
her grand IQ, but you know what happened after that. It was a fucking   
catastrophe! What good is a grand social commentary like the one I had planned   
if there aren't any casualties to show for it! All that time and effort wasted.   
I put the bomb together, set up in the gym, then set up in the boiler room, and   
for freeing her and the rest of the school of their true enemies, she repays me   
the same way she did Heather Chandler. She completely screwed me-fucked me up   
pretty bad.  
In the end, the best way to make an exit is to create one, and that's what I did   
the only way I know how-the extreme way. I know that made an impression. How   
could I resist the temptation to go out with a bang. Yes, regrettably, Elvis has   
left the building. You don't think that means he's dead though...do you? You   
know what I love about this country? You give 'em lots of smoke, some   
pyrotechnics, and they automatically assume you're dead, even if there aren't   
any remains!  
I admit, I might be a bit disturbed, a little far-gone, maybe even borderline   
psychotic, but what is that, anyway? What's a more poetic salute to the ultimate   
definition of crazy? That I tried to blow up the school and everyone in it, or   
that some demented, anti-social freak probably took my finger home as a   
souvenier? I should've made out a will or some shit before I did all this. I,   
Jason Dean, of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath upon Veronica Sawyer my   
middle finger. If I had had the foresight, that might've been a good idea. I   
think Veronica would've been amused by it.  
  
  
Now we come back to our original question, full-circle to where we started. Why   
do we do it? Why did you do nothing to stop this breakdown from happening? I   
mean, we should put out a fire before it starts right? Like I said before, maybe   
we don't want to put out the fire. It's a tough call and you can cheat on this   
one, because the thing about playing with fire is you're bound to get burned.   
But there's one question you never think to ask. It's the one thing nobody   
thinks to check. Some people are just born burned. I was burnt long before I   
ever lit a match. There's a fire inside that nobody started...but that couldn't   
be my fault. It's not like people are evil by nature or on purpose.  
  
  
  
By: Mary C. Paul  
Copyright 2000. All Rights Reserved.  
  



End file.
